


Trial by Fire

by castielsass



Series: Trial by Fire [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, and gideon's still locked up, au where chilton's organs were taken by hanni instead while he was unconscious, because i love gideon, gideon's a prick but i love him, im not sorry, im sorry, living in the past hell yeah
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-01
Updated: 2014-05-07
Packaged: 2018-01-21 13:54:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1552811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/castielsass/pseuds/castielsass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will doesn't have much to do while locked up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Spark

Will was frequently considered a non-sexual person. Not asexual, in the truest sense, as he was woefully celibate rather than wilfully. He considered this faintly as he took the tray of grayish food from the orderly at the door. He heard Gideon next door give a _hmmph_ as he received his own tray.  
“Hardly that one,” Gideon said in a theatrical voice, one that suggested he was being quiet but was still meant to be heard.  
“Hardly that what?” Will asked, mostly out of boredom as he pushed sloppy peas onto his fork. 

“He certainly wouldn’t inspire wild fantasies,” Gideon announced, and Will heard the ding of his tray as Gideon apparently tipped it down the toilet. Will thought over the orderly in question, his greying thin hair, yellowed teeth, shadowed eyes. He tuned back in halfway through Gideon’s next sentence.  
“...you need a good thing to think about, Mr Graham or you really will lose it in here. Perhaps it’s something as base as fucking,” Gideon said, drawing the ‘f’ through the front of his teeth like a string. “But something, to keep your mind working.”  
  
Will didn’t reply. Gideon was ridiculous at times, downright offensive at others and Will was quite sure he probably wouldn’t get off until he got out. He certainly hadn’t tried it since he got in. The blurry white noise of the mics and cameras in the halls and his cell ensured that. 

  


However later, after therapy, Will found himself padding slowly in circles around his cell, with no release in sight. Lights out at 8:30 pm, and three hours until then. Will trailed his fingers over the cool metal of his sink, running old quotes from favoured books through his head. Will didn’t consider himself easily bored, but he felt like he was circling the drain. There was a quiet, rhythmic fleshy noise from one of the cells further up the echoey hall.  
Perhaps Gideon was onto something. Without consciously considering, Will slid into old fantasies, worn and warm as old shoes. He let himself slide onto the thin, sweat-smelling mattress and imagine soft, silky sheets smelling like sandalwood and orange. A cool deep mattress with warm, well-maintained hands pressing down slow and firm along the sides of his ribcage, thumbs grazing the hollows by his hips and opening him up like a book. Will let himself slip deeper into the idea, seeing his own body through dark eyes.  
His mouth tingled like it was touched with mint, and the stinging smell of blood invaded his mouth and nose and he reared back, Hannibal’s face tilting in polite disapproval in his mind.  
Will gulped as his stomach turned over and bile rose in his throat.  
Will threw his legs over the edge of the bed and buried his head in his hands. He ran through the people he knew, glancing over Jack, the CSIs, settled briefly on Alana before the soft pain of rejection curled in his stomach. Uneven footsteps echoed down the hallway, briefly eclipsing the sounds of someone masturbating a few cells next door.  
Will ran his fingers through his hair, lifting the lank locks from the root to make himself more presentable and a slim, brunette orderly stopped outside his cell. Will looked up as he trailed his keys over the ledge in the door, metal tinkling pleasantly.  
  
“Shower in ten minutes, Mr Graham,” the order lisped. He trailed away, one hand tucked in his own back pocket as he moved to the end of the line to aid the first patients into the showers. Each patient was lead into the showers separately so the orderly was not overwhelmed. Will drifted forward to the bars, loosely gripping one as he watched the thin orderly lead a patient down the hall.  
  
“Perhaps,” Gideon said thoughtfully from the next cell.  
“No,” said Will, surprising himself with the venom in his tone. “No. Haven’t you heard him speak? Can barely manage a sentence,” he said, forcing an attempt at casual. The words echoed down the hall and Will saw the orderly’s shoulders cave in as he lead a small man toward the showers.  
Quick echoes flashes through Will’s mind, and remembered whispers traced his thoughts, other orderlies and nurses mocking, muttering “Misther” and one vivid hiss of “-lispy, limp-wristed motherfucker-”. Guilt laced through Will’s ribs but he shrugged it off.  
Gideon’s hands had slipped through the slots in his bars and allowed him to lean forward, watching the thin orderly trail off.  
“Perhaps you’re right,” Gideon allowed. “He is a touch pitiful. But then who?”  
  
“Fantasize about Chilton for all I care,” Will snapped. He sat heavily on his mattress, and slid his hand underneath his pillow. He drew out the square of chocolate the thin orderly stashed underneath his dinner plate everyday and pressed it onto his tongue. Warm cinnamon blessed his mouth as the chocolate melted. 

  


A few moments later, the keys rattled at his cage door again, less pleasantly this time as the orderly yanked open the door.  
  
“Shower, Misther Graham,” the orderly bit out and Will felt, as well as saw his constrained fury as the lisp made itself more obvious.  
  
In the showers, Will stood underneath the head as the orderly turned it on from the other side of the room, his white jacket swinging with the movement. The water burned hot for a moment before stuttering into a warm stream.  
  
“What’s your name?” Will turned to ask, modesty an affectation in a place like this. The orderly didn’t disguise his long glance and somehow that made Will feel better than if he’d avoided looking altogether.  
  
“Matthew. Brown,” the orderly said, twisting long fingers in the hem of his white coat.  
“Matthew,” Will repeated softly. At this, the orderly finally drew his eyes away, apparently aware of and embarrassed by the intensity behind them.  
  
“Call me Will, Matthew,” Will said, just to feel the heat burn through the cold in his bones.

  


After the shower, Matthew led Will over to the two chairs facing each other in the corner of the room.  
Will took the seat, and allowed his knees to brush against Matthew’s as Matthew sat and picked up the small nail scissors on the metal table next to them. Matthew held his hand out, palm out and Will considered it, lost in thought for a moment before he rested his hand in Matthew’s palm. His hand was warm and calloused, almost rough, although he held Will’s like it was glass.  
Will’s eyes closed for a moment as Matthew lifted his index finger and carefully snipped the nail. Hannibal’s hands were always soft, creepily so, and smelling lightly of orange hand moisturiser.  
Sandpaper skin on the knuckle of Matthew’s hand rasped against the sensitive skin of the top of Will’s hand as Matthew carefully moved to hold his middle finger and cut the nail neatly.  
  
“You know I could do this myself,” Will said.  
  
The orderly shook his head gently, not lifting his eyes from Will’s hand. “Sorry Mr Graham,” he grinned at him and Will’s stomach turned over pleasantly at the grooves beside Matthew’s mouth. His eyes were smooth, but he had light laugh lines.  
Matthew carefully lifted the next finger, gently laying the cool edge of metal against the tip of Will’s finger before he slowly snipped the nail off. A rustle as the door swung over made Will look up. The greying, yellow-toothed orderly from earlier stood halfway in the entrance and barked at Matthew.  
  
“Hurry the fuck up, Leslie Jordan. You gotta wash the others too,” he spat, over-pronouncing the _s_ -sounds offensively.  
  
“Yes, sir,” Matthew said, clipping Will’s final nail with more efficiency and less apparent worship than before. The dirty orderly strode off, and Will wondered if he had noticed the quiet sarcasm in Matthew’s voice.  
  
“I like how you talk,” Will said. Matthew looked up at him, pale green eyes glittery in the white reflection from his clothes.  
  
“Didn’t sound like you did earlier,” Matthew said, eyes drifting back down to his lap. He took Will’s other hand and easily cut the thumbnail.  
Will stared out the window.  
  
“Gideon likes you too. Too much, for my taste,” Will said, almost reeling in surprise at his own boldness. Matthew didn’t answer, but his hands softened, tense knuckles relaxing around Will’s wrist.  
  
“What do you miss most? About being out,” Matthew asked.  
  
Will considered, his mouth open. “My dogs, obviously. My classroom, to a degree. The fields around my house. Stupid pop songs on the radio. Twizzlers. Deodorant,” he said ruefully.  
  
Matthew smiled at him again, and placed Will’s hand carefully on his lap. 

  


Back in his cell after showering, Will lay on his stomach, draping the blanket over his back and shoulders and burying his head into the thin pillow. Lights out would be in about twenty minutes, but he had time. Gideon’s footsteps repeated softly as he paced his cell, and Will let his eyes shut, the rhythm soothing him.  
His twined his hands in the cool material of his pillow, remembering how Matthew’s fingers had felt wrapped around his wrists. His eyes when Will had turned in the shower, brazen and yet respectful, as if he simply refused to be ashamed of his attraction.  
He wound his feet in the blanket to pull it taut over his body to disguise the slow movements of his hips against the springy mattress. A quiet squeak made it obvious what he was doing, and Will adjusted his hips immediately, not wanting to give Gideon the satisfaction of knowing he was right. Will sank his face deeper into the pillow to disguise his heavy breathing.  
Precome ran down the tip of his cock and soaked into the fabric of his underwear, but it made the thrust slick. Matthew had smelled like smoke and hand sanitizer, and Will’s cock throbbed. His hands were dry. Will imagined them closing, gentle and firm around his wrists as Will lay in this very position, as Matthew’s cock worked between his cheeks.  
The bed started to squeak faster but Will didn’t have it in him to care. His knees twitched apart, strengthening his thrusts and Will bit hard on the pillow. His eyes clenched shut as he worked his hips roughly, imagining soft warmth as Matthew’s cock slid up between his legs and came on his lower back, dripping into his crack, and smelling like salt and bitter-Will gasped out loud, the pillow falling from between his teeth as he spilled into his thin boxers, come sticking to his lower stomach.  
  
Will slipped off his underwear and used them to wipe the rest of his come from his stomach before he tossed them in the small sink to rinse. Yawning, he sank back into the warm bed for a night of curiously untroubled sleep.


	2. Smoulder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will progresses.

“Shower in ten minutes, Mr Graham,” Matthew said from outside the door. Will looked up at him, but he was already striding away.  
The metallic sound of Gideon resting his arms on the bars next door echoed down the hall.  
“I think someone has a crush,” Gideon said, ruefully childish. Will didn’t answer. 

Chilton didn’t invite Matthew to sit, so he stood with his hands in his back pockets.  
“Some people have reported the exorbitant time and focus you seem to be spending on Will Graham,” Chilton said, leaning back in his chair as though it were a throne.  
Matthew bit back the first words that wanted to come out of his mouth.  
“I noticed he seems to like me, sir. I thought it might help your therapy if he felt he had a friend in here,” Matthew said and watched Chilton consider. As if he really had a choice. As if Matthew didn’t have the power to lean over and press that ostentatious cane across his throat and kneel on it. Chilton’s hand spun his cane.  
“Sir, not shir,” Chilton corrected, as though Matthew was being deliberately obtuse. “Say it.”  
Matthew ground his teeth together before he opened his mouth, powder thick on his tongue.  
“Sir,” he said, lisp hissing softly. Chilton shook his head and sighed.  
“Leave. But remember, Graham needs a friend. Give him what he needs to open up to me,” said Chilton, as though it had been his idea all along.  
“And Mr Brown?” Chilton hesitated, Matthew loosened his grip on the doorknob. “Send in Gideon.”

Showering quickly moves up from Will’s least favourite activity to one he actively looks forward to. Matthew had always allowed Will to take his time, and been kindly gentle when he had to trim his nails but he had started giving him gifts, small things that Will always declined but Matthew insisted he take. Today he had brought Will a new deodorant. It smelled like the one he wore at home, with the ship on the bottle and it helped ease his discomfort. Matthew laid his own cellphone on the table in front of them while he carefully cut Will’s hair. Soft pop music played quietly from the phone, and Will had to smile and look down at the hands folded in his lap to keep from lifting them to Matthew’s face. Matthew wound locks of Will’s hair around his fingers, only trimming the dead ends, careful as always. The warmth of Matthew’s hand sank into Will’s skin as the cool metal of the scissors drifted over the back of his neck. Will allowed his eyes to drift shut as some slow song played quietly on the table in front of them. Matthew’s hand slipped to the crown of Will’s head and wound tightly in the curls, arching his neck back. Will didn’t open his eyes, didn’t move, although he knew what was coming. The cool blade of the scissors lay, hard and sharp across his throat. Matthew’s hand was warm, almost hot against the crown of his head as he played with the blade, drawing it gently over Will’s throat, too light to even scratch. A loose hair fell from the hinge and landed softly on Will’s collarbone, itching him. He didn’t raise a hand to brush it away.  
“I would never, Mr Graham,” Matthew said softly. “Never.”  
“I know,” Will said.  
Matthew drew the blade away, slow and soft as a kiss across Will’s throat.

“I think I’m beginning to understand you now, Mr Graham,” Gideon said. “Or at least the game you’re playing.”  
“Maybe you should focus on understanding your hard-on for Chilton instead,” Will snapped, turning back to sit on the floor against the back wall and think.

A long shadow flickered on the floor outside WIll’s cell. Will didn’t look up until neat steps came to a stop outside his door.  
“Good morning, Will,” Hannibal said. Will didn’t make eye contact, but instead searched for the familiar white coat of the orderly who always stood outside when there were visitors. Matthew’s shoulder caught his eye, and Will smiled at Hannibal, standing.  
“Good morning, Doctor Lecter,” he said evenly.  
“I’m sorry it has been so long between visits. I’m sure you understand,” Hannibal said.  
“Of course. It must be difficult for you,” Will said softly. “Organising your feelings for me.”  
Hannibal did not look away, but Matthew did as he slid closer to Hannibal, his back against the wall, keys twinkling silver against his belt.  
“You still don’t know if you want to kiss me or kill me, do you?” Will said. Hannibal folded his coat in his arms, and sighed. “You wanna fuck me or fight me?”  
“There’s no need to be so crude, Will. I thought we could be friends,” Hannibal said. Will snorted rudely, but moved toward Hannibal, closing his hands around the bars and leaning forward.  
“We will never be friends,” he said.  
“Would you like me to remove your guest Mr Graham?” Matthew asked, sidling closer to the cell.  
“No, Matthew, thank you. I believe he can leave under his own power,” Will said, allowing his hip to tilt, his body canting obviously toward Matthew’s. Judging by the way Hannibal’s eyes flickered between them, he didn’t miss it.  
“Of course,” Hannibal said. “Goodbye, Will,” he finished, turning and letting himself down the hall.  
“He will never give up,” Will whispered as he realised. Matthew turned to him, holding the bar next to Will’s hand.  
“Ol’ jilted lover?” Matthew asked softly, but by the look in his eyes Will could tell he knew more than he allowed in his voice.  
“Something like that,” Will said. 

“It’s a very dangerous game you’re playing, Mr Graham,” Gideon said. His voice echoed off the wall in his cell as he sat on the bed against the shared wall. Will allowed himself to copy the pose.  
“Some killers have knives, some have guns,” Will responded. “I use what I have.”  
“Hmm,” Gideon said. “The question is; is it still a game?”  
Will wound his fingers in the hem of the loose grey shirt he wore. It was cotton, and a little too big for him and it smelled of Matthew, the fragrance they both used that Hannibal hated.  
“Of course it is,” said Will.


	3. burn

“You smell like blood,” Will said softly. Matthew lifted his shoulders briefly.  
“Sorry,” he said, resting the edge of the tray of food on the slot in the door.  
“It’s ok,” Will said. He didn’t take the tray.  
“You never killed anyone, did you?” Matthew said. “You haven’t ever even hurt anyone.”  
“I killed someone,” Will said.  
“What was his name?”  
“Garrett Jacob Hobbs.”  
“How’d you do it?” Matthew asked. Will took the tray and laid it on his bed.  
“With a gun,” Will murmured.  
“Who hurt you?” Matthew asked. His hands drew back from the door, and he held his own wrist loosely. “Who did this to you?”  
Will bit back a sigh, and began to eat until Matthew left.

“Who did this to you?” Matthew asked again, in the shower, when Will was washing the slick suds from his hair. Will didn’t answer.

“I haven’t noticed any discernible difference in how Will Graham approaches his therapy,” Chilton said. His hands played with the tip of his cane, and Matthew allowed rude, crude thoughts to run through his head but not his mouth.  
“Try harder,” Chilton said.  
“Yes sir.”  
“Yes sir,” Chilton repeated, stressing the singular sibilance. “You consistently say yeshur. I’m beginning to think it’s because you don’t like me.”  
“No, sir,” Matthew said, and let himself out of his office.

Will smelled blood again, and looked up, expecting Matthew. Hannibal stood in front of his cage, jacket folded primly over his arm. His suit was dark today, with soft black pinstripes, as if he were mourning.  
“Good evening, Will,” Hannibal said. Will didn’t answer, letting his eyes drift upward to the bars of the cage above his head. The light looked almost soft pouring through the bars like that. Hannibal’s accent cut through his haze, but Will built it back stronger, effectively blocking him out. He let his head fall to the side and fix on Matthew, leaning against the door to the room, turning his keys on long fingers.  
After a time, Hannibal stopped speaking, and simply sat, crossing one leg over the other. Will swallowed back the image of a spider sliding back in its web, waiting to pounce.  
When Hannibal left, he stood and stroked along the length of his folded jacket, a movement meant to drew Will’s eye. Will refused, allowing his mouth to part as he watched Matthew, even as Hannibal watched him.  
“Goodbye, Will,” Hannibal said, and Matthew came forward when he left.  
“He did this to you,” Matthew said. “I’ll fix it.”  
“It’s not your job,” Will replied. His voice was dry, from an hour of silence.  
“Let it be my job,” Matthew said. “Please.”  
“I don’t know,” Will said, letting his eyes drift down Matthew’s lean body. “I don’t know. He might convince you to join him instead. And then what will I do, Matthew? Who will I have?”  
“Me, Mr Graham. It’s ok. You’ll always have me,” Matthew said.

“Naturally, Mr Graham, I’m loathe to beg from you, but as you refuse to take my advice I’m forced to ask you for something,” Gideon said. Will folded his hands by his stomach, lifting his knees up, and sucking on his lip as he repeated “naturally”.  
“I’m not taking you with me.”  
“I would never ask you to,” Gideon replied, with considerably less venom in his tone that Will had expected.  
“Then what do you want?”  
“I would not ask for you to take me with you, Mr Graham,” Gideo repeated. “But I will ask you to open my door.”  
“What if I don’t?” Will forced himself to ask. He heard Gideon’s shrug, thin jumpsuit material rustling against the brick wall.  
“Alana Bloom is scheduled to question me tomorrow. I suppose she was once a friend of yours, but now…I’m afraid she would fall to protect Hannibal. She might just bring you down with her.”  
Will stood as Matthew stood in front of his cell, his smile falling as the tapping of a cane indicated Chilton’s presence behind him. Matthew carried a chair that he placed carefully in front of Will’s cell.  
“Good evening Mr Graham. I trust by now you’ve noticed the lack of books or entertainment you’ve been allowed. A necessary evil stemming from your refusal to open up to me,” Chilton said, sitting and placing his cane between his knees.  
“And yet, I’m still not going to,” Will reminded him. “I’ve told you the truth.”  
“You’ve told me half-truths, and exaggerations, and given me distractions. I’m not a stupid man, Mr Graham, I know of your problems with Hannibal Lecter and I don’t appreciate you attempting to set me on him like your dog.”  
Will sighed, shaking his head slightly as the sheer willful ignorance of Chilton’s words washed over him.  
“I’ll think about it,” Will said.  
“Allow me one, honest look at one aspect of your life Mr Graham,” Chilton said. “Give me that, and I will happily grant you the same freedoms as everyone else here has.”  
“What aspect would that be?” Will asked, and Chilton leaned forward before he even finished the question, resting his hands on the top of his cane.  
“Tell me about your father,” Chilton says and Will bursts into bitter laughter. The shrill bell rings harsh at the top of the hall and Matthew steps back automatically.  
"Sir-" he starts, but Chilton’s face twists and he turns and stamps his cane hard.  
"Sir, shur, sir," he says mockingly. "For goodness sake, Brown."  
“Alright,” he says. Chilton leans back in satisfaction, but Will isn’t talking to him.  
“Alright,” he says as Gideon stirs in his cell.


	4. Blaze

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings for this chapter, skip if you don't want to be spoiled.  
> tw: mentions of child sexual abuse  
> tw: mentions of blood and hints of violence

Chilton comes to him before Matthew does the next morning. He opens the cell door himself, and the orderly Will hates; with the yellow teeth and straggly hair shuts it behind him. Will follows Chilton down the hall, past Gideon’s cell where Gideon is staring after him, a book abandoned to his left. Chilton leads him to his office and Will does not look around. He already knows the layout. He sits in the chair he sat in last time he was here and Chilton does not sit behind the desk, instead taking the armchair to the right of Will. It’s unusual for Chilton not to want the barrier of the desk between him and a patient, Will thinks. He must think I’m not dangerous, Will thinks. No one ever does. Chilton takes a clipboard with a small, red stain of ink on the back of the cork. Will thinks Chilton must not have noticed it yet, he can’t image Chilton would be so unkempt. Will looks down at his own uniform, grey, badly fitting, torn hems and stifled a laugh.

“Something funny?” Chilton says, leaning back against his armchair, his cane resting against the edge of the desk.  
“Very,” says Will. “So do you have questions?”  
“Sure,” Chilton says in an unusually kind voice. “But I thought perhaps we’d explore your history instead.”  
“No,” Will says. He’s not sure why, but he doesn’t want to ramble, he’d rather answer questions as quick and curt as possible. “Ask the questions first.”  
“Alright,” Chilton says. He doesn't flip a page on his clipboard, and Will catches a glimpse of what looks like a list, like he’d predicted Will would be like this. Somehow that pisses him off.

“Let’s start with your parents, hmm? Your mother?”  
“Dead,” Will said. “I think,” he finished, and immediately regretted it.   
Chilton’s eyebrows almost shot into his hairline, even though he probably was already aware of this. That just pissed Will off even more.   
“You think?” Chilton ventured when WIll did not elaborate. Will took a moment, letting his right foot come up to rest of his left knee.   
“That’s what my father said. He said my mom died when I was a baby, and I don’t know if he was lying and she ditched us, or if it was true. I think it’s true. I don’t think a mom would leave their child.”  
“And where did you grow up, Will?” Chilton asked and Will almost snorted at the familiarity.   
“Louisiana, with my father,” he said softly.   
“Did your father work?”  
“All over. Fixin’ up boats, motors, whatever,” Will said. Chilton wondered if Will had noticed he had slipped into a stronger Southern accent than usual.  
“Why do you think your mother wouldn’t leave you?”   
“I didn’t say that,” Will let his foot drop back onto the floor, a soft thump on thick, expensive carpet. “I said I don’t think a mom would leave. Perhaps mine did. I don’t know.”  
“Why do you refer to your mother as ‘mom’ and your father more formally?” Chilton asked. He copied Will’s posture obviously and Will would have noticed if he eyes hadn’t been fixed on the door.  
“I don’t know, I didn’t realise I did,” Will said after a long pause.   
“Do you harbor resentment for your father?” Chilton asked and Will scoffed before he’d finished.  
“You’re hopping right into the thick stuff, Doctor, aren’t you,” he said.  
“The important stuff,” Chilton said. “We can leave it at this for now if you like, you can return to your cell and we’ll speak more tomorrow.”  
“No,” Will said. “I wanna talk now.”  
Chilton restrained his obvious excitement badly.  
“In that case, we can continue. I want to remind you this is a safe, private environment and you can speak as freely here as you would in your mind-”  
“You’re not my first therapist, Doctor,” Will interrupted. “I know the speech.”  
“Who was your first therapist, Will?”  
Will shrugged. “Doctor Parrish. In Biloxi, I think. When I was in middle school.”   
“How old were you?”   
Will shrugged. “About twelve.”  
“Why did you start going to see Doctor Parrish originally, Will?”  
Will lifted his hands from his lap. “Can I walk around?”  
“I’d prefer you didn’t,” Chilton said.  
Will restrained himself, sinking his fists into his lap. “My teachers were worried about unusual behaviours I was displaying. And my father was… agreed. He agreed I needed help.”  
“Why?”  
Will almost bit his lip. Chilton was so callously inefficient. Will had a brief thought of ‘Hannibal would never approach the issue like this’ before he tossed it aside.   
“I was wetting the bed. My father was...worried,” he said finally.  
“Why were your teachers worried?”  
“I was...harming myself. And damaging property. Lying. Had an unusually high fear of punishment. Attempting to build unhealthy relationships with those in a position of authority,” he said, listed as if it were a grocery list.  
Chilton tapped the end of his pen against his clipboard. “What kind of unhealthy relationships?”  
“I asked my teacher if he wanted a blowjob,” Will said.   
Chilton’s pen stuttered against the clipboard before his grip tightened again.   
“You know what all this signs point to, Will. You’re a smart man,” Chilton said. Will shrugged.   
“You asked.”  
“You’re right, I did. I-you’ve made good progress. Let’s talk some more about that. What did your father do when your teacher said you were displaying these unhealthy behaviours?”  
“He smacked me,” Will said. “Not too badly. I couldn’t go back to school for a week. He said it was so I could decompress, get over it. I think it was ‘cause of the black eye, myself.”  
“I see,” Chilton said, and he looked down at his clipboard for a minute like he simply didn’t know what to say next. “Do you think you’ve carried that desire for authority figures on into adulthood?”  
“No,” Will said shortly.  
“Perhaps...a therapist. Or a boss…” Chilton hinted, as subtle as a train.  
Will snorted. “I’m not attracted to you, Doctor.”  
Chilton gave him a sarcastic little grin, twirling his pen. “I meant Doctor Lecter,” he said, as Will’s smirk dropped.  
“No,” Will said again. “I’ve become wondrously neutral towards Doctor Lecter lately.”  
“Have you?” Chilton asked and stared. “Have you transferred that… unrequited affection to another relationship?”  
“I never had affection for Hannibal Lecter beyond much more than what was required for us to be friends, and I don’t believe that friendship was unrequited,” Will said.   
“Alright, Will,” Chilton said. “In that case, let’s speak more about your childhood.”  
“Fine.”  
“Were you abused as a child, Will?”   
“No,” Will said automatically and it was testament to his father’s coaching that the answer was out of his mouth before the question even registered.   
“Was it your father who abused you?” Chilton asked, and his voice was soft like velvet and Will wanted to set him alight.  
“No.”  
“A teacher?”  
“No.”  
“A family member?”  
“N-no.” Will said and imagined the mental fire his mind had Chilton embroiled in spreading to his own face, his mouth, down his throat and burning out everything inside him.   
“You mentioned you moved a lot as a child, your father went where the work was, isn’t that right?” Chilton asked and relief burned in Will’s chest at the different direction. “Who took care of you when your father was out of town, Will?”  
The fire in Will’s chest burned low and stuttered out, and the branches of his ribs froze. “My uncle. My father’s brother.”   
“What was his name?” Chilton asked.  
“I don’t. I don’t remember. I just called him ‘uncle’.” Will said.  
“Is he the one who abused you?”   
“No! No one did! I was just a fucked up kid, and I wasn’t good at being a kid, and I wasn’t good at anything, I was just weird, no one hurt me, I don’t have an excuse, I was just fucked up,” Will bit out.  
“Alright, Will. I understand,” Chilton said quietly. His hands were palm out in front of his own chest. “Please sit back down.”  
“What?” Will demanded, before he looked down. He stood in front of his armchair, not bound, and trembling. He sat back down. “I’m sorry.”  
“That’s perfectly understandable, Will, don’t worry,” Chilton said, and WIll felt an unusual rush of affection that he quickly strangled.   
“Would you like to continue?”   
“Sure,” Will said.  
“I’m sorry to point this out, but you keep looking at the door. Are you waiting for something?” Chilton asked. Will shrugged.   
“I’m hungry. Thought I heard the lunch cart.”  
“Would you like to eat in here?”  
“I’ll wait.”  
“Refusing to eat in front of others can be a sign of shame, Will. Are you feeling ashamed?”  
“No,” Will said. “I’m feeling sick that you would think my uncle would ever hurt me,” he said and the words felt toxic in his mouth, like dry ice sinking into the tissues of his throat.   
“I thought you were feeling hungry,” Chilton said neutrally.  
“I’m feeling a lot of things,” Will snapped.   
“I know you have heard this before, WIll, but I just want to help. I won’t tell anyone what you tell me, this is a safe, stable environment and I can promise you no one other than me is listening or ever going to know what you say in here,” Chilton said.  
Will didn’t answer.   
“In light of your understanding that, I’m going to say a series of phrases that may or may not be true. If a particular sentence is true for you, I’d like you to say ‘green’. Is that ok? Do you understand?”  
Will nodded. Chilton folded over the page in his clipboard and began to read.  
“An adult gave me an unusual amount of attention when I was a child,” Chilton read quietly. WIll considered. That could mean anything.  
“Green.”  
Chilton didn’t acknowledge his response at all except to make a small mark on the paper in front of him and somehow that soothed Will the tiniest bit.   
“This adult was often left to care for me,” Chilton read and Will wondered where he’d gotten those phrases from. Where they quotes of some poor abused souls?   
“Green.”  
“This adult frequently made me feel ashamed, and bought or gave me small gifts in order to make up for it,” Chilton tested, his voice low and Will thought for a long time with his eyes fixed on the door before answering “Green.”  
“This adult abused me, sexually or otherwise,” Chilton said. Will clung onto that ‘otherwise’, soothing himself with the idea that that could mean anything.   
“Green,” he said and surprised himself.  
“I reported this adult to someone and was not listened to,” Chilton said. Will didn’t answer. Chilton placed his pen on top of his clipboard and put it on his desk.   
“Were you listened to?”  
“To an extent,” Will said finally. “I told my father. When he would go out of town, he would leave me to stay with my uncle. I told my father what was happening, and.”  
“And?” Chilton coaxed. He took a box of tissues from the corner of his desk and held it by his own knee, although Will was not crying.   
“And my father said we had no other choice. I couldn’t go with him to work. We didn’t know anyone else who would take care of me. And he said it wasn’t as bad as I was making it out to be,” Will said. “I think I’m done talking now.”  
“Are you?” Chilton asked. “I’d like to speak some more, if that’s ok.”  
“No,” said Will. “I’d like to be finished now. I want to go home.”  
“I’ll have you escorted back to your cell,” Chilton said and reached for his cane. “Orderly?” He called without looking. Matthew answered from behind him. Chilton startled and almost fell, but WIll caught the back of his jacket and steadied him.   
“What th-” Chilton started. Blood dampened Matthew’s white coat, and the end of the sleeve was torn, as if someone had tried to rip his hand away.   
“I’m going to take Mr Graham, now, sir,” Matthew said softly, his lisp evident. For once, Chilton didn’t correct him on it, but instead looked between Will and Matthew incredulously.   
“Take him where?” Chilton asked, and Will heard fear shake his voice as blood dripped from Matthew like a waterfall, sinking into the plush depths of the carpet. Matthew reached for him and Will took his hand gladly, letting the red stain his jumpsuit. The door opened quietly, and they both turned as Gideon let himself inside.   
“Goodbye, Doctor Chilton,” Will said. “Thanks.”


End file.
